The Afterglow Of Laundry Day
by Willow Fireheart
Summary: After discovering that his bed as been used by others for less then innocent motives Spike decides to wash his sheets and gets busted by Buffy. [Complete]


**The Afterglow Of Laundry Day.**

Spoilers- S7 up to Storyteller but before Lies My Parents Told Me.  
Disclaimer- Buffy, Spike and Buffy's basement do not belong to me. Trust me, they fully belong to the genius that is known as the All Mighty Joss.  
Note- This is the fault of Pocket Jericho. We start talking fic and all of a sudden bang I have an idea and it has to be written. He also practically co-wrote the last part. Thanks, P.J. couldn't have done it without you.  
xxxxx

Buffy frowned as she entered her kitchen; it was empty. The last time Buffy had seen the kitchen empty was before the Potentials had started pouring into her house like it was a homeless shelter.

A loud thump emerged from the basement, followed very closely by a string of curses so foul that Buffy could have sworn the air was tinged blue. An eyebrow rose on Buffy's face as the thumping and cursing continued. Okay, maybe that's why the kitchen was empty.

Cautiously Buffy opened the door to the basement and walked carefully down the stairs. The unexpected sight that greeted her was so shocking that it stopped her in her tracks.

Spike was doing laundry.

Spike was doing laundry?

Spike walked over to his bed frame and kicked it with his heavily booted foot. "Bloody wankers. You'd think they'd have more decency. You'd think they'd know all about vampire senses." Spike let out a harsh 'ha.' "They probably did it on purpose. 'Let's see how far we can push Spikey before he cracks again.' But I'm not going to crack. Ha ha. Joke's on them. They can be the ones that crack. Let them spend a few weeks in the basement! See how they like that!"

"What?" Buffy asked no one in particular. Concern wrote it's self over her features.

Spike, so involved in his angry rant, failed to notice Buffy. "I would have expected something like this from him. But she used to be a demon! There's a code you know. She's breaking the code! There's going to have to be a punishment!" A malicious grin formed on Spike's lips. "Yeah, a punishment."

Buffy warily approached Spike. "Spike," she called softly. "Are you okay?"

Spike whirled around to face Buffy, his anger momentarily forgotten. "Buffy! You're home early."

Buffy frowned and studied Spike's face. "I come home for lunch. What's going on? What happened down here?" Buffy gestured to the overturned bed frame and the accompanying mattress that lay limply against the wall on the other side of the room.

Spike's eyes darted around the room. "Nothin'. Just felt like a bit of cleaning."

"Cleaning?" Buffy clearly didn't believe a word he said.

A lead ball of doubt settled in her stomach. They didn't truly know that the First wasn't still controlling Spike. Buffy carefully looked him over. There was a frightening resemblance to 'crazy in the high school basement Spike.' With his black jeans Spike wore an open, blue, button down shirt and his hair, usually so carefully gelled and combed, sat around his face in waves and curls.

Buffy bit her lip; she couldn't let crazy Spike remain in such close proximity to Dawn and the Potentials.

The washing machine beeped. Spike growled low in his throat and spun back to the machine. He threw the lid open and scowled meanly at the contents.

Buffy peered into the machine. The material inside the machine was a deep blue, made darker by the addition of water. 'His sheets,' Buffy thought. 'What is he doing?'

Spike grabbed the box of soap powder and shook half of it into the machine. He reached over and grabbed a bottle of hospital strength disinfectant, pouring most of the bottle over the sheets. Spike growled again and started to mutter words and half phrases under his breath, words and phrases that Buffy couldn't quite hear. Spike paused, thought for a moment and then squeezed the rest of the bottle of disinfectant onto the sheets.

"Bloody bastard… rip him limb from limb."

Buffy placed her hands on her hips and surveyed Spike through narrowed eyes. "How are you feeling, Spike?"

Spike looked up at her absently. "Huh? Yeah, fine."

Buffy nodded. "Uh huh. So you haven't seen anything out of the ordinary lately. No pink elephants? Blue lions? Dead people telling you to kill us all?"

Spike looked up sharply. "What? No! What on earth are you on about, woman?"

"Well, gee, I don't know, Spike." Buffy said sarcastically. "You're lurking in my basement, your bed is in pieces, your hair is all messy, you haven't bothered to button your shirt," Buffy paused and eyed him blatantly. "You're muttering and ranting again and lets not mention the threat of limb ripping. Add it all up and I have every reason to think-"

"To think that the First has control of me again." Spike completed for her. Spike grimaced. "Not to worry, love. No specters or spooks have decided to keep me company, not lately anyway."

"Oh," Buffy relaxed a fraction, a frown still creasing her forehead. "So what was with all the 'she broke the code' and the thing with your bed."

Spike shrugged uncomfortably. "I found something that cause a strong urge to wash my sheets is all."

"And throw your mattress across the room?" Buffy arched her eyebrow in a challenge.

"That was… It was just… I… Bloody hell!" Spike cursed loudly in frustration.

Buffy's eyebrow remained arched and her long fingers started to tap against her hips.

"Fine," Spike muttered; his eye downcast. "Anja nad Xndr nadnex aim ny ded."

"What?"

Spike growled and raised his head, his eyes flashing fire. "Anya and Xander had sex in my bed," Spike said, taking care to enunciate each word.

"Oh." Buffy suddenly made a face. "Ewww!"

Spike sighed in exasperation. He slammed the lid of the washing machine down and hit a few buttons. The washing machine whirled back to life. Spike glowered at the innocent machine. A muffled snort caught his attention. Spike turned to stare at Buffy, who was holding her stomach with one hand, the other being used to cover her mouth as she laughed.

Spike scowled at her. "What?"

Buffy tried to calm herself down and for a minute she succeeded, or that was how it appeared before she once again burst into gales of giggles. "Anya and Xander… in your bed!"

Spike scowled harder. "It's not funny."

Buffy continued to laugh, clutching at her stomach.

Spike bottom lip jutted slightly out of it's scowl. "It's not funny! Stop laughing!"

Buffy straightened and brushed the hair out of her face, gradually controlling her breathing and containing the giggles. Although she had stopped her giggles Buffy couldn't stop the wide grin that lit up her face. "Sorry, sorry."

Spike crossed her arms across his chest defensively. "You wouldn't think it was so funny if they decided to do it in your bed."

Buffy paled and scrunched up her nose. "Yuck!"

"No so funny now is it?" Spike looked around the basement, his anger rising, once again causing him to rant.

He started to pace. "You know, maybe I wouldn't have such a damn problem if I thought the whelp would be able to perform. I mean she's an ex-vengeance demon! Is she just screwin' the pillock out of pity?" Spike thought for a moment. "Mind you, that'd be one tidy pity shag…"

Buffy stared at Spike, her brows heading towards her hairline, her arms crossed over her chest and her heeled boot tapping a rapid staccato against the basement floor. Her jaw tightened. The tapping increased until it sounded like there was a jackhammer in the room; tiny stress fractures wormed through the cement slab.

Spike looked up at Buffy, having seemingly forgotten she was there. He shook his head as he realized how the comment might have sounded. "Anya would be, of course, Anya… always Anya," Spike stammered, verbally falling over himself. "I mean for Xander. Anya's not for me. Well, there was that one time… It was the alcohol. Alcohol is lust… and never again… never happened since." Spike added, almost regretfully. "She's too busy with the whelp."

Buffy's eyes immediately narrowed.

Spike's eyes widened as he saw the thunderous expression on Buffy's face. "And that's a good thing. Bloody good thing it is. Sodding lucky Harris." The last came as a muffled mutter that Buffy still caught.

Buffy smirked, at his discomfort and his comment. "You think he's lucky? Would you really want to have switched places with him last year?"

Spike scowled and pulled a face. "No, but last year wasn't fun for any of us."

Buffy felt the blood leave her face and she lowered her eyes. "No, it wasn't."

Spike sighed and stood close to Buffy, hooking a finger under her chin to make her meet his gaze. "Hey now, now of that. That's not the issue here."

Buffy knuckled her eyes, a weak grin forced onto her lips. "So what is then?"

Spike smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind Buffy's ear. "The issue is that the whelp and his supposed ex-tumble shagged themselves rotten in my bed. If anyone should be shagging in my bed it's me!" The indignant tone returned to Spike's voice.

The corner of Buffy's mouth ticked upwards in genuine amusement. She looked around the small, dark and slightly dank room. "Do you want a hand putting your bed back together?"

"Sure, love."

Silently they rightened the bed frame and replaced the forlorn mattress, the soft whirring of the washing machine filling the room. As the mattress settled back onto the metal frame Spike started sniffing around it. He snuffed and snorted as he moved around the bed.

Buffy stared at Spike incredulously. "What are you doing?"

"I think I can till smell them."

Buffy tentatively sniffed the air. "I can't smell anything."

"You wouldn't," Spike told her.

Spike jumped onto the mattress and fidgeted around. "If I feel his arse print there's going to be hell to pay," he spat.

"And how are you going to know whose ass print it is?" Buffy asked with a grin.

"It's a big arse…" Spike said with a slight smirk.

"You've looked?" Buffy asked, still grinning.

"C'mon, Slayer!" Spike protested. "It's not like you can miss it!" Spike held his hands up for effect, holding them far apart. "It's a wide load!"

Seeing how determined he was Buffy changed tracks. "How do you even know she was on top?"

Spike snorted. "Oh, come on. Anya likes to be on top. Uh, I mean she seems like the sort, likes to be in control, you know." Spike's eyes darted around the room, avoiding Buffy's.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. "Uh huh."

Spike recovered quickly, straightening and leering at the petite slayer. "You can tell with a woman, love." Spike snickered.

Buffy placed her hands on her hips. "I suppose you know with me too, huh? You can tell where I like it, can you?" Buffy blushed. "Don't you dare answer that incredibly stupid question…"

Spike chuckled. "You make it too damn easy sometimes, Slayer."

Spike eyed Buffy. "Have I ever told you that you look so innocent when you blush, love?"

Buffy flushed brighter. "No."

Spike stalked closer to her, invading her personal bubbly, his voice husky. "Makes me want to see haw far it goes."

Buffy allowed him a little closer then grabbed him by the collar, the embarrassed expression instantly falling off her face. "If it ever touches me, I'll break it off," She warned.

Spike stepped away. "You'll change your mind, love. They all do." Spike snickered arrogantly.

Buffy walked up the stairs, her hips deliberately swaying. "Cold day in hell, Spike." Buffy paused on the stairs. "I have to go back to work. Promise me you won't do anything to Xander."

Spike's bottom lip jutted out. "But, love-"

"Promise me, Spike."

Spike kicked at the floor. "Fine, I promise."

Buffy took a deep breath, her demeanor deathly serious. "You do know that we can never... We just can't, Spike." Buffy ran a hand through her hair. "Giles and Xander already wanted to hurt you before everything that happened. There's just too much. Maybe one- It's too hard."

The washing machine beeped loudly, breaking the tension in the room. Buffy turned and hurried up the last of the stairs, the door slamming behind her.

Spike licked his lips. "It'd be worth it, Slayer." Spike laughed bitterly and shook his head, his eyes focused on the door she had just exited. "It'd be damn well worth it."

Sighing Spike walked over to the machine. He lifted the lid and pulled out a handful of the damp sheet. He lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply. Spike's face screwed up in an expression of disgust.

"Bloody whelp."

xxxxx

End.


End file.
